


Down in the Garden

by bitsofstories



Category: Original Work
Genre: England - Freeform, Fantasy, M/M, Other, Urban Fantasy, didn't get in, may continue may not, so enjoy, used this as a submission to get into a creative writing course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 05:27:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26467921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitsofstories/pseuds/bitsofstories
Summary: England always has some shred of the fae lingering at the edges of modernity. Peculiar events at happenstance, yet what can birth such strange familiarity?
Relationships: M/M - Relationship, Weird as fuck - Relationship, a little gay if you squint, fae be creeping





	Down in the Garden

Britain, an overcast country on an overcast day. Rural towns have been no stranger to oddities and interesting times from superstitions and illness to pillaging, warfaring and politics. Nestled amongst trees stood such a town. There it sat. A row of small narrow houses, all sagging with age and grumbling with its neighbours for space. Roofs edging to touch in their slumped states. Brushing so close you’d think they were as gossipy as their residents. The corner house at the end of the street stood out most. Not because it was differing in its vibrant blue colour, (as most were some shade of reddish-brown), or that it was particularly small. It was because of a sad, struggling, if not altogether yellow complexion of the front garden.

Dennis Bradwell, a man approaching his thirties was tending to his struggling garden on this late autumnal morning. Kneeling in the dirt grumbling and frustrated at its lack of growth and increasing weed problem. “Blasted things, maybe I’d have a nice bloody garden if it wasn’t for you little blighters always popping up...”  
“struggling mister?”  
Startled the man drops his trowel “aah, um, well,” glancing away as he clears his throat.  
“Cat got your tongue?” Leaning in the young man grins. Far too close and as bold as youthfulness can offer.  
Standing, Dennis combs his eyes over him before offering his hand, “Not at all, not at all mister...?”  
“Altwidus Emmerich,” rather than shake his hand he bows. Never blinking or turning away. The eye contact is unnerving, even from such a small man, “but you can call me Al”  
“Very well Al, are you new to town? Only, I don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance, nor heard talk of you before”  
“No, no I wouldn’t have expected that at all” Al seemingly gives him a once over. Breeching Dennis’s personal space as much as the fence allows “not at all... Anyway, gotta run, lotta work to do expecting visitors and all” Al lunges pulling Dennis into a none-too-pleasant embrace. Al retreats before Dennis has half the mind to push him off, “Best of luck with your garden Dennis!”

Given the time of year, things had become lively in the Bradwell household, and not in a good way. Instead of busy family members and friends visiting for a chat over warm drinks, cosy and snug from the ever-chilling weather, Dennis had found his home collecting the local wildlife. Nothing too severe but enough to notice, the odd bug here or there, maybe a bird but they all seemed... out-of-place.  
He by no means was at all familiar with his local wildlife – but he could have sworn he had never seen butterflies at this time of year.

Al became a staple in Dennis’s life. Not one he was fond of by any stretch of the imagination, but one that he tolerated all-the-same. He was strange company – an odd fellow – but he supposed they must have a similar schedule given how often they seemed to bump into each other. Every week, without fail, they would cross paths at the Grocers (and given Al’s enthusiasm) be forced to endure the walk home together. Dennis supposed he must live close given how often he seemed to pass the house whenever he was outside or happened to pass his windows. However, things seemed to be getting rather odd. He wasn’t a suspicious man, or at least he didn’t like to think so, and he tried to stay out of gossip but... well, he could have sworn that anytime Al interacted with him that more wildlife turned up. Why there was even a fox in his kitchen the other day! And he knew he shouldn’t complain but his garden was beginning to grow, flourish even! Yet not with anything he planted, but wildflowers, beautiful healthy wildflowers... blooming regardless of the encroaching winter.

Dennis tried not to become suspicious of the fellow, his odd behaviours had become somewhat endearing throughout their interactions. Yet, nothing could distract from his underlining off-putting (if not borderline stalker-like) traits and the bizarre inkling scratching at the farthest corners of his mind. Still, he tried to remain polite, respectable, although a bit less personable. If anything, that seemed to encourage Al. He began to show up more often, every day. Sometimes flagging him down in the street or at work. Inviting him over. Invading his personal space more often, lingering in unwanted hugs.

Pins and needles had begun to invade his mind as their interactions progressed. Clouding his mind. Fogging his senses.

Things had been getting stranger, he tried to avoid going outside. Avoid any interactions with anyone. He could bump into Al and it would get worse. Dennis knew it was ridiculous to blame Al for his troubles but it was the only way to link what seemed to be happening to the real world. His problems with the occasional butterfly or bird seemed laughable now. He’d welcome that back if it meant he’d get his house back. He couldn’t take this. Flowers had begun growing in the sink, clawing up the pipes and invading his home the longer he hid behind locked doors. Foxes, squirrels and glimpses of other furry critters scuttled freely throughout his home. Unafraid, but elusive. Vines began to tug at the lights and moss melded with carpet. He couldn’t stay here. It wasn’t a home anymore, things were growing too fast and he was out of food. Perhaps he was going mad? Had he been here that long? He opened the door and there stood Al.  
“Afternoon Dennis! How have you been? Haven’t seen you all week just-about!” Al was smiling, closed-eyed like a smug cat. That same haze he’d come to expect was back, but it was almost like it was moving. Like the centipedes in the cupboards, crawling through his mind, legs brushing through his thoughts, around memories, peeking in gaps and pilfering worries rhythmically stepping on pin-sharp legs. And then he was inside, brushing passed his arm. Dennis whirled around, his mind and body twisting along with the lagging reality. Stalling, words dying on lips eyes wide.  
The plants were gone. Animals, insects. All gone. Maybe he was going mad...  
“Dennis? Dennis are you alright? When was the last time you ate?” Al was in front of him again hand cupping his face in the same invasive manner (as expected of him at this point), a pie resting in the other.  
“huh? I- when did- what happened to all the...?” this didn’t make any sense. Where did all the plants go? When did Al get that pie, he could’ve sworn he didn’t have it when he opened his door, so where did it-  
“You’re really pale. Come on, let your ol’ pal get you something to eat,” why was everything so sharp, crisp, cold, even Al’s words seemed almost icy.  
“Cold” reeling, shock kicked in. It was freezing in Dennis’s household. The windows were all open. Why hadn’t he left the house again? He hadn’t even gone to work, and he was so hungry. When was the last time he ate?  
“Come on, come on,” ushering Dennis into the kitchen and seating him at the counter. Al busied himself with the jug and slicing up the pie until both pie and tea were resting on the counter in front of them.  
“Okay, so what’s up? I haven’t seen you in a week and come in to see you half-starved and as pale as death. So, come on, give us a hint”  
“I don’t –” Dennis took a sip of his tea, wasn’t he out of earl grey? “I don’t know, I don’t remember”  
“Hm, well, that doesn’t sound good,” he moved the pie towards him. “go on, get some food in ya before you keel over” Dennis ate the pie, slowly, deliberately. It was apple. “You know if you ever get into a bad spot you can come over right? I know I always show up here but nothing is stopping you from coming to me for anything you know? Hell, even just for some food and a chat!” He sounded concerned, Dennis was sure of that. So why, why did he look so smug?

Over the next few days, Dennis thought things would improve. He left his house, tended to his typically dying garden, washed his hands in flowerless sinks, walked on moss free floors. Everything was back to normal, the way it was supposed to be, yet he was starving and alone. The cupboards were full of food but empty of the critters he'd come to expect. His bed no longer matted with fox fur and feathers. His home was utterly empty and quickly draining of food. He was ravenous. Getting increasingly thinner and thinner until he was just a sliver of a man. He kept buying and eating, buying and eating. An ever-increasing hunger consuming his thoughts. He didn’t have the money, no, he didn’t have the will to keep going on like this. Dennis was dying, he didn’t know how, nor did he care much at this point, but he was starving. Starving on a full belly, gorging himself on food. It was like he was dying of thirst at sea. So much water, but not a drop to satisfy. Until, until it came to that blasted pie. The one he’d had with Al about four, maybe five days ago? It was still fresh, still hot. He didn’t have the wits to question that at the moment. Then he was full.  
Nothing else seemed to work. No other food could satiate him. So, Dennis made a trip. Al had mentioned where he lived before. Never in much detail, and never with an address. It made finding the place hard, and the pit in Dennis’s stomach grew. This was a dangerous game, whatever it was, and he couldn’t quite make up his mind on whether he was delusional or not. He didn’t know if creeping fears and social isolation had chipped away at his mind without him noticing or if maybe, just maybe –  
“Dennis! How are you? What brings you to my neck of the woods bud? Not that I’m not happy to see you, it’s great to have you over! Wondering when you’d pop by, come on come on,” and as quick as Al had shown up they were walking, arm in arm stride for stride. Well, maybe more stride for skip, Al was practically bouncing his way along the footpath-turned- trail.

“I didn’t know anyone lived in the wood this side of town Al,”  
“No? Well, I do, so that makes one, doesn’t it?” an impish grin crawled across his face as he glanced at Dennis. “Ah, home sweet home.”  
The woods opened up to a glade. Presumably man-made given its nearly circular shape. There the house sat. Cobblestone and straw, half sunk into the earth with every kind of plant crouched in dormancy along the crevasses. Truly it looked like it was only a fraction away to becoming a ruin if it wasn’t for the roof and bike out front.  
“I bet you’re just starving buddy, I was about to have dinner myself. What were you thinking? I was gonna make some stew but whatever works for you –”  
“Stew would be wonderful Al” anything would be a godsend at this point. Dennis had never been this hungry before. He damn-well thought his stomach was going to cannibalise his liver at this point. Al was laughing, grinning with glee as Dennis made his way inside and settled into the kitchen.  
“Stew it is!”

The kitchen was dim. It seemed... about as run-down as its exterior but in a far better condition. The paint looked fresh, and everything shone with a polished gleam. That didn’t make up for the lack of lights, or fridge, or the open pantry that only held fresh food. Fresh vegetables, fruit, raw fish. It was only as the sun began to set that Dennis noticed the fog trickle away from his mind. Al was still cooking over an old wood stove, the only source of light in the dimming room. The light did something. It did something strange to Al, or maybe that’s how he always looked. Dennis wasn’t sure. Wasn’t sure how long the fog had settled into his mind, perusing his thoughts and clouding his judgement. Al’s face was too smooth, shimmering like porcelain in the firelight and his face was too sharp, too perfect. The spitting image of symmetry with just one too many teeth. Horrible beauty. As hypnotising as it was off-putting. Dennis cleared his throat.  
“hm, well, Al I really must pop outside for a bit, get a bit of fresh air and whatnot before we settle in for the night,” that grin grew wider, he was sure people couldn’t grin like that. A grin past his cheekbones, so close to his eyes. Dennis blinked, he didn’t have time for this, he had to concentrate.  
“Sure Dennis, take a look around. I guarantee this place is like nothin’ you can recall in your lifetime, sky’s real pretty too,” the relief ebbed with the palpitations racking his chest. As steadily as he could Dennis made his way to the front door. He could just step out, go back home, forget this ever happened. He’d gladly starve to death if it meant avoiding whatever it was that lived in that house.

The door was locked.

Of course, the damn door was locked... Fine, he’d go out the back then, or through a window, if it came to it. He tried not to sneak, or tremble as he came to the door. He didn’t want to attract suspicion. It was unlocked. The door swung open easily crashing into the wall. Dennis flinched and when he opened his eyes he didn’t think he’d ever been so afraid of something so artful.

They were beautiful. The trees. Not the ones he knew that were in the glade. These were much older. Far older, with winding trunks and spiralling branches that stretched on into the sky. Became the sky. The stars scattered on branches. Too many. It was far too bright for the night, and there was no moon. Warmer. Things moving through the trees. Terror, fear, but somehow it was easier to breathe. Purer, lighter. Like he’d been drowning his whole life. This place was filled with life he was sure of it. Even if he couldn’t see it, even if it was dangerous beyond compare, even if it was death and rage and cunning, and oh so beautiful. This place was alive.

“Welcome home Dennis Bradwell. Welcome Home”


End file.
